Clarity At Comic Con
by ImogenByNight
Summary: When a hunt leads the brothers to Comic Con, Dean's inner fanboy comes out-and, in a way, so does Dean. (Dean/Cas fluff, despite the distinct lack of Cas' presence)


It was 8am on a Saturday, and Dean stood before the full length mirror that hung on the bathroom door, pulling a mustard-yellow shirt down over his chest. He smoothed his hair, for once parted on the left, and grinned at his reflection.

This wasn't the weirdest disguise he had ever resorted to—that honor still went to Teddy Bear Doctor—but it was definitely the most fun. Dean wouldn't admit it out loud, but he'd been wanting an excuse to dress up as his favorite Captain since he was ten years old.

While he knew he shouldn't be so excited about going to Comic Con under these conditions (the seven bodies that turned up at the convention with missing eyeballs and hexbags in their pockets were hardly a cause for celebration) he was pretty damn psyched.

He took the gold communicator from the end table and tucked it into its place on the back of his belt.

Behind him in the main room, Sam sat on the edge of his bed, fastening a pair of red and silver gauntlets to his wrists.

Dean glanced at him over his shoulder, then back to the mirror. He lifted his hands in mock horror as he spoke with eyes bugging out, his voice halting and loud.

"I'm… losing… command!"

"You're such a dork," Sam said, laughing.

Dean looked back at him and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Says the guy wearing a cape."

With a snort, Sam stood and crossed the room, red cape swishing as he picked up a large metal hammer. Symbols were carved into its head, and he tested its weight before swinging it through the air. It made a sound like rushing wind, and Sam shook his head as he returned it to the table.

"Can you imagine if the Comic Con people found out this was actually Mjölnir?"

"The drycleaners in this town would have a field day."

Sam crinkled his nose.

"Dude. Gross."

Chuckling to himself, Dean looked back at his reflection. He pulled at a loose thread on the edge of the Starfleet insignia sewn onto the shirt and threw it into the bathroom before checking his hair for the fifth time.

"You know, it's a shame Cas isn't here," he said after a moment, chewing on his lip thoughtfully, "he'd make an awesome Spock."

Sam let out a strangled laugh, the sound cut short and muffled by his hand, and Dean turned away from the mirror, glancing around the room in confusion.

"What?"

Sam pursed his lips, trying not to laugh, and Dean stared at him.

"How long since you heard from your 'space husband', anyway?" asked Sam, smirk still coloring his voice.

"About a week," Dean answered too quick, then frowned in a poorly-executed display of false confusion and sat down to pull on his boots, avoiding eye contact as he asked, "space what?"

With another laugh, Sam shook his head.

"You know internet history is a thing, right? I wish I could say Star Trek fan fiction was the worst thing I'd seen on there."

Dean narrowed his eyes, even as the blush crept up his neck, and scrambled to find a comeback, some way to get out of this horrible moment. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he gave up and settled for an admittedly lame, "Shut up, Sam."

He walked toward the door, car keys clenched in his hand.

"Okay, okay, I take it back," he called out, voice apologetic, and Dean paused with the door half open before he went on, "But you know, if you popped the question, he'd probably say yes."

Dean left, pulling the door shut a little too loudly, and Sam stopped laughing, wondering why Dean was acting so touchy. He frowned.

It wasn't like Dean was actually—

"Holy crap," Sam's eyes grew wide as everything clicked into place.

All those lingering stares he had been witness to suddenly took on new meaning. He wondered if Castiel knew—if Dean even really knew—and shook his head as he walked to the window.

Outside, he saw Dean leaning against the Impala, pressing buttons on his cell. After a second he raised it to his ear, and Sam saw the unmistakable shape of "Hey, Cas," form on his brothers lips, followed quickly by a smile that only grew wider when the angel appeared beside him.

Ducking his head, Sam felt the smile echoed on his own face and silently thanked whoever it was that had brought Castiel back from Purgatory.


End file.
